Realizations
by Citiesofcolor
Summary: Marshall woke to a headache, and found himself facedown in the middle of his living room floor. Why was he wearing a tux? And why was there a camera on the floor next to him? Wait... Last night Mary had gotten married. To Raph. Spoilers from Jailbait on.


**Title:** Realizations  
**Characters/pairing:** Marshall, Mary, Mary/Marshall, Mary/Raph  
**Rating:** K  
**Warnings: **NA  
**Word count: **1,792  
**Summary: **She had never wanted to be one of those women who sat their grief on their elbows, yet here she was again, staring out the window.  
**A/N: **Spoilers from Jailbait on.

* * *

Marshall woke up slowly to the worst hangover-induced headache he had ever had the misfortune to be subjected to, and found himself face-down in the middle of his living room floor.

Damn.

What had happened last night?

Completely baffled, he looked around the room. Most of his questions about why his head hurt so much and why he couldn't remember anything were answered by the empty bottle of whiskey a few inches from his right hand. After a few seconds, his addled brain managed to add up the fact that his furniture was normally white, not orange-yellow. After puzzling over that for a few moments, he finally had the bright idea of looking out the window.

Damn.

It was already sunset. How long had he been comatose? Even stranger, why was he wearing a tux? And why was there a camera on the floor next to him? It wasn't his, he knew that for sure. His own was a run-of-the-mill digital and this one was very professional looking. And... wait a minute...

Damn.

Mary had gotten married yesterday. To Raph.

Double damn.

Marshall grasped for the camera clumsily. It seemed as if his fingers were moving much slower than the rest of his body. Why did he have to pick whiskey?

Managing to finally hold the camera upright in his hands, he turned it on scrolled through the pictures, trying to figure out which one he stolen the camera for. Obviously there had to be a reason, he wouldn't normally steal the instrument someone made a living off of just for kicks...

After scrolling through every picture twice (all 230 of them), he realized that there was only one that looked familiar in any way.

It was a wide shot of the reception hall during the bride and groom's first dance. A very good picture, professionally speaking. In the background were the various looks of various people as they watched Mary and Raph dance. There was Jinx sitting at a table crying into a napkin. Standing next to her was Brandi and Peter holding hands and looking on at the couple on the dance floor. At another table nearby was Eleanor, her hand touching her ring finger and obviously trying not to cry. Then there was Stan, watching Eleanor with a wistful expression in his face. There was Bobby D. looking out at Raph and Mary with a kind of smirk, as if he knew what they had wasn't going to last. Next to Bobby D. was a woman in a blue evening dress it took a little while for Marshall to recognize. Finally her face clicked. It was Roxanne, the detective who Mary had fought with during the whole Eps fiasco. He sighed, wondering of the foreground was going to be a bad as he expected.

Damn.

It was. In the foreground were Raph (looking dashing in a tuxedo), and Mary (stunning in a simple-but-elegant wedding dress that Eleanor had helped her find), in that classic wedding dance pose, Raph's hands on either side of her, Mary's arms around his neck, each staring into each others eyes. The former was staring at Mary with a look of unadulterated devotion on his face, the latter was looking at Raph with a look of amusement and tenderness that made Marshall's heart beat just a little faster. She was smiling her smile, the one that only a few had been privileged to see. They were both caught up in their own world. The photographer was so good that you could see the faint sparkle on the fourth fingers of both their left hands.

In other words, stuff that would make Marshall's stomach turn. And he was pretty sure this nausea was not alcohol-related.

Damn.

Staring at their picture, bits of his memory began to come back. Like what song they had been dancing too when the picture was taken. It had been an obscure Sarah Brightman song called "Heaven is Here", and in the recalling, the last few notes ran through his mind.

_So send me an angel_

He doubted Raph would know that particular song was one of Mary's favorites, and the only Sarah Brightman song she claimed to like.

_And wrap your love around_

Not that she would never admit it of course, Mary had always said Sarah Brightman was too fluffy for her taste.

_Cause when it all comes down you'll know_

But, once he had caught her playing on her iPod, and she, cornered into confession, had said it was the one that had any semblance of backbone, and was so sappy that it would have been perfect for the first dance at any wedding reception.

_That heaven is here_

He doubted Raph knew that the song was so special.

Trying to focus on the picture again, he shook his head, which only resulted in a bout of dizziness that took a few seconds to pass. As soon as he could, he went back to studying the picture and trying to figure out why this photo in particular had urged him to go through so much trouble to steal this camera.

Yes, it was the kind of picture that married couples loved to display on their mantels (right next to the one of them kissing), and yes it was the kind of picture that professional photographers really made money on, but it didn't seem all that different from the rest of them, and that didn't explain why he had wanted it so badly.

Suddenly, something on the far right of the picture caught his attention. There in the back corner of the reception hall was himself, staring at Raph and Mary (well, it was blatantly obvious that he was staring at Mary more than Raph). Why he wanted it so badly was finally becoming clear. On his face was a look of absolute pure jealousy. It was such a negative look, that it couldn't be described as anything _but_ jealousy.

Damn.

Now he understood. Mary could never see that picture. If she was to see his face... Well, he would be screwed. If she knew how he really felt, it would make it all the harder for them both, and though he may want to, he was not going to be responsible for breaking them up. He would never make Mary choose between him and Raph.

Looking at the control panel, he located the "delete" button, and, taking one last look at his own face and hers, pressed it. The little hour-glass figure appeared, and slowly the photo dissolved and the next photo bumped up to its place. He felt a little regret, but that was quickly covered by despair.

Was he never to get the things he wanted? Before he had a little of a chance with her, but now? She was off-limits. It was as if someone had squared off the space around her with the yellow "Police Line Do Not Cross" tape.

Feeling another wave of nausea, Marshall stood up, and walked rather unsteadily to his bathroom door, planning on letting the alcohol work its way out of his system by throwing it up. If he was lucky, maybe he would be able to go to sleep once the it stopped. Maybe he would get really lucky and find out that this whole thing was really only a bad dream. Feeling his feet hit the cool tile, he looked up to see his face in the mirror. He was shocked by how much older he looked. He reached for the tap of his sink so he could wash his face, but even before he could touch the handle his doorbell rang.

Walking unsteadily back to his living room, he felt ridiculously victorious at how quickly he managed to move, and in the end, he made it to the door with only banging into one piece of furniture; a feat that he praised himself on. He opened the door, and to his shock, saw Mary.

She gave him a once-over and smirked as she took in his disheveled appearance.. He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off before he could say "hello".

"Hey doofus, I just want to let you know that the photographer called. He said some tall drunk guy stole his camera. And, by the looks of things, I was right in my assumption that it was you." She smiled a little, then pointedly looked down at his hands.

Following her gaze, he realized that he was still holding the camera. He opened his mouth to say something else, but, once again, she cut him off.

"Marshall, he also sent a copy of the pictures so Raph and I could look them over and pick the ones he wanted printed. I saw your face."

Her smile was getting bigger. This time, he made no move to interrupt her.

"I just wanted to let you know that Raph is in the car waiting for me, so I'd better make this quick."

Without missing a beat, she grabbed his face and kissed him in the same way he had kissed her so long ago in that barn. Forcefully, hungrily, deeply, and hot enough to burn. He started kissing back involuntarily. Then, just when he thought that his heart was going to burst, she pulled away.

He didn't ask any questions, mostly because he didn't want to know any of the answers.

This time, instead of faking a smile, she was serious, the look on her face practically screaming _li__sten to me good doofus_.

"You know, if you had told me how you felt, Raph would have been the one sitting in the corner looking at us." She said quietly, and looked down at her feet, avoiding his bloodshot eyes.

Shock met her statement. Was she just saying that to make him feel better? Or did she really mean it?

Mary looked up at him and stared at him for what seemed like a long time, emotions flitting across her face. Finally her lip twitched upwards in a miniscule smile. She took the camera out of his hand and kissed him again, this time on his forehead. She caressed his cheek with her hand, and turned around, walking away from him.

"I'll see you at work?" He managed to croak out, hoping that this wasn't a dream.

She turned back and looked at him again, a slightly amused expression on her face.

"Of course. Just because I'm married doesn't mean that I'm going to become a housewife and have fifty kids. You'll see me."

She turned away again and walked back toward the car and Raph, leaving him alone on his front stoop, wondering about what would have, could have, and should have been.

Damn.


End file.
